


Sometimes You Just Need To Hug A Dog

by wordyanansi



Series: Tumblr Prompts [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogs, F/M, M/M, Social Workers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordyanansi/pseuds/wordyanansi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Bellamy Blake (not really a dog person) ends up buying a dog because he's stupidly, secretly in love with his best friend (absolutely a dog person). </p><p>As far as ideas go, it's pretty freaking stupid. A tangible, living reminder of his pathetic pining. </p><p>But Clarke's whole face lights up when she hugs a dog, and he'd basically do anything to see that again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Just Need To Hug A Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carrieevew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrieevew/gifts).



> Me a week ago: Carrie, it's going to be late.  
> Me four hours ago: Carrie, I'm 9k in and about two thirds done. Gonna be SO LATE.  
> Me just now: OH LOOK I STAYED UP TILL MIDNIGHT AND HAVEN"T PROOF READ IT BUT IT'S DONE. 
> 
> So, Carrieeve, my dear, the happiest of birthdays to you. Thanks for existing, I've sincerely enjoyed making your acquaintance. I hope you enjoy this weirdly long fic that mainly features Bellamy's angst and everyone mocking him for being a human disaster. And an awful lot of dogs. 
> 
> Prompt: Bellamy buys Clarke a dog because he's in love with her. (I'm morally opposed to giving the gift of responsibility of a living creature without consent so he buys himself a dog).

It’s a fact universally acknowledged that Bellamy Blake is not an animal person. He doesn’t mind them, or anything, but… he thinks owning animals is a weird concept in general, and he doesn’t understand why you’d want the unnecessary hassle and cost. There’s feeding it, walking it, taking it to the vet, cleaning up after it… and then you pour all your love and money into it and it dies and you get a new one. It boggles the mind slightly. Of course, most people who meet him don’t really think he’s a people person, either, which is weird given he’s a social worker. But he is definitely a people person. As evidenced by his collection of strays at the weekly Sunday night dinner. 

 

Octavia, of course, is a regular, because she’d never hear the end of it if she wasn’t. And Bellamy remains unconvinced she would have graduated without scurvy if he hadn’t fed her vegetables at least once a week. Despite her argument that “vet” is a legitimate medical degree and he needs to calm his shit. Her high school best friends, Monty and Jasper, who were inseparable in the beginning. But… there’s less Jasper and more Monty since “the accident” (and there’s only ever one accident they talk about like that, a hideous car crash with Monty behind the wheel and Maya, Jasper’s girlfriend, dead). Miller, who worked in the same bar he did after high school. Lincoln, who Octavia started dating, much to Bellamy’s teeth grinding. Raven, who’d fixed his car and somehow turnedthat and a weird one night stand of angry sex into being bros. The roster changes from time to time, but they’re his strays, his people, and he takes them in and looks after them, and feeds them, and worries about them, and makes sure they know they always have somewhere to go or someone to call in a crisis. 

 

And then… there’s Clarke. 

 

She’d come into his life about a year ago in a tornado of sharp edges, exasperated sighs, and glares. Charlotte. It still hurts him to think about, the ones he couldn’t save, but Charlotte hurts most. She got under his skin. She was just ten years old and so small and slight, and so alone in the world. Her junkie mother overdosed and her father didn’t want her, and when Bellamy had removed her from the home, she’d had bruises and cigarette burns on her arms. He’d clenched his fists and tightened his jaw and not punched anything and called it a win. And then Clarke Griffin, perfect, pretty, has it all Clarke Griffin, wanted to place her in a group home for previous offenders. Which, Charlotte only stole to eat, and it’s institutionalised poverty and penalising her for every single person and system in her life letting her down. It was unprofessional to shout the way he did, but she leveled her gaze and stated the facts and he hated her for being right, hated her for having money, hated her as if she were the system itself. But Charlotte went into the group home, and Clarke visited her, tried to help her, he found out later. After Charlotte died - gangs and crime and drugs, in the end it was a world she didn’t know how to live without. Clarke cried at the funeral and he invited her to Sunday night dinner without meaning to, really, and he was surprised when she came. 

 

He was even more surprised to find in her someone who quickly became the person he wanted to have a drink with at the end of a hard day. Someone that helped him understand Lincoln, and could make Miller laugh, and get Raven to open up. Clarke became part of his life almost by accident. And, in his defence, he didn’t realise he was in love with her, or falling, until it was too late. He’s not sure what he could have done about it, exactly, but he figures that whatever modicum of self-preservation he has might have tried to prevent it. If he’d known. And of course it’s Octavia is the one who tells him… because for all they are different, there is a part of them that will always know the other better than they know themselves.

 

“Bro, I’ve got some bad news for you,” Octavia says, sitting beside him at the bar. It’s a Friday night, and the afterwork crowd is patchy at best, but Bellamy likes it there, and likes that he and O can actually have drink together and hang out sometimes now, without him feeling like he needs to be her parent. It’s good, being her friend. She doesn’t sound particularly remorseful or upset, so he’s pretty sure she’s about to mock him rather than give him actual bad news, so he smiles at her. 

“What’s that?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink, smiling at a pretty girl that’s been trying to subtly check him out for the past half hour. He’s not feeling particularly committed to it, but it’s nice to be appreciated.

“You know how in Tangled, when Rapunzel is looking at the floating lanterns and Flynn is looking at the look on his face he’s all like ‘you’re my new dream’ or whatever?” Octavia asks. Bellamy frowns, and takes a beat to look at her, trying to let his brain catch up to what is going on because it’s literally six pm and there is no way O should be that drunk right now. 

“Uh… Yeah?” he asks. 

“That’s how you look at Clarke,” Octavia informs him, blunt as always. Bellamy stares at her.

“I do not,” Bellamy begins, but Octavia gives him a look that silences him. Clarke’s currently having a conversation that involves a bizarre amount of gesticulation with a guy that he recognises as being one of her work colleagues in another corner of the bar, and his eyes drift to her. 

Oh, he thinks. And it dawns on him a weird moment of revelation, like math class and you’re working on something for hours and then the formula magically makes sense and everything slots into place. But there’s no sense of victory like with the math problem. Just an emptying of his stomach. 

“Well,” Bellamy says after a moment, because O is clearly waiting for him to say something. “That’s a thing.” Octavia snorts derisively and finishes her drink, clearly disgusted with him.

“For someone who is literally trained in dealing with human emotions, you are pathetically unselfaware,” she informs him. Bellamy rolls his eyes. 

“For someone who was meant to be trained in delivering bad news you’re surprisingly unsympathetic,” Bellamy retorts. She raises her eyebrows.

“You think it’s bad news?” she asks, and it’s a genuine question and Bellamy doesn’t know the answer, so he shrugs. 

“I don’t know yet. I’ll probably get over it,” Bellamy offers, hoping. It’s not that Clarke’s not amazing, because she is. Or that she’s not his best friend, because she is. It’s just that he’d rather have her in his life as a friend than lose her because he can’t keep it in his pants. And he’s obviously felt this way for a while now and it’s been fine. So. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Octavia says, almost cheerfully. “And you’re going to get your heart broken. You should get a dog so you have someone to hug when you’re alone at night and pining for Clarke.” It isn’t the first time that Octavia has told him he should get a dog - there’s been an ongoing campaign stretching years. But Bellamy’s pretty sure it comes more from her wanting access to a dog whenever she wants because she and Lincoln live in an apartment, and he’s their only friend with a yard. She argued that it would be aesthetically pleasing to see him with a dog a couple of months ago. She’s not terrible subtle. 

“I’m not getting a dog, O,” Bellamy replies. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with a dog. Get a backyard and get your own dog.” Octavia sighs and kisses his cheek.

“I have to go. Lincoln’s last surgery should be finishing up, and I told him I’d help him do final rounds,” Octavia says. And then she’s gone, and Bellamy’s sitting a bar, alone, trying to decide if he should smile at the pretty girl, or talk to Clarke, or go home, and life’s suddenly a lot more awkward than he remembered it being. He blames Octavia.

 

He goes home.

  
  
  


Bellamy’s pretty distracted by his case files when Clarke lands heavily into his very uncomfortable visitor chair the following week. He’s got a pen in his mouth, a frown on his face, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to have remove an eight year old boy from his parents due to a fun combination of general neglect and the kid’s behavioural issues that they just straight up aren’t equipped to deal with. Of course, behavioural issues almost always means group home, and those places are the worst. He should know, he’s been in one. But he’s kind of running out of options and it’s pissing him off. Clarke just sits there, waiting until he stops typing and when he looks at her, he drops the pen out of his mouth and onto his desk because he knows in his chest that something is really wrong. 

“You had a shitty childhood, right?” Clarke asks. Bellamy nods, because it’s true, and he’s pretty sure she’s going to go somewhere with this. “Do you have, like, dates that were particularly shit that you remember? Or was it just one long blur of shitty?” Bellamy considers the question for a moment.

“Mainly a blur of shitty,” he says. “I mean, the day Mum died is a thing, but it’s not a symbol for everything that went wrong in my childhood or anything.” Clarke nods, thinking.

“You’re not really a dweller. Residual anger, chip on the shoulder, but you’re not... ,” Clarke starts, contemplatively, but cuts herself off with a heavy sigh. “It’s a shitty day. Anniversary. Whatever.” She looks at him, and just for a moment, Bellamy’s pretty sure she’s going to cry, but it recedes and he wants to hold her but he’s pretty sure he’s not meant to right now. 

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to eat your feelings?” Bellamy asks, because that’s what Octavia wants and Clarke laughs, just for a moment, and he feels like he won something, and she has this look on her face like she’s so proud of herself for picking the right person to come to. 

“Eating my feelings sounds pretty great. Can you take lunch? Or are you eating at your desk and obsessing about your caseload?” Clarke asks. He does a quick mental review and one day isn’t going to change anything, and he doesn’t have any clients scheduled… And it’s Clarke, who never really asks for anything. 

“I can take lunch,” he says, dumping his case files into his lock-drawer and logging off the computer. “I might even be able to take a long lunch. We could go to that gourmet burger place that takes an hour to feed you.” Clarke rolls her eyes at him.

“Yes, but the burgers are a genuinely spiritual experience, Bellamy. They are worth the wait,” she reminds him, and he sighs.

“I stand by the fact that you’re always so hungry by the time that the food comes it tastes better,” he returns, and she falls into step beside him as they leave the office, just a little closer than she normally would be, and their arms brush against each other. His shoulder falls just behind hers, unconsciously protective, and then consciously, and he loves the way she chose him for today, and tries not to be sad that she’s having a shitty day at all. 

“Can we eat at the dog park?” Clarke asks. And it seems like a really weird request, because why would you want to eat somewhere that dogs are more likely to both poop and steal your food, but he says yes anyway because when you’re having a shitty day you get to make those kind of choices. 

  
  


The burgers are, as predicted, a nearly spiritual experience, and way too big to fit inside anyone’s mouth. Clarke’s laughing as lettuce dripping with relish thwacks against her chin. Bellamy hands her a serviette, and tries to ignore the sauce running down his arm. She hasn’t said anything about it being a shitty day since they left his office, and Bellamy’s not about to make her. But… there’s something about just being with her that he finds therapeutic, and he wonders if it’s the same for her. If something in her head gets quieter when he smiles, like it does for him. The dogs are very interested in their burgers, and they get some weird looks from owners. But mainly the appeal of the dog park for Clarke seems to be seeing a cute dog, hitting him, and then trying to convince him of the cuteness of said dog. As far as ways to make him get a dog go, he’s honestly just surprised Octavia hasn’t tried it yet. 

“Oh my god, Bellamy, look at him. It’s a schnauzer! Look at his grumpy old man face,” Clarke says. 

“It’s kind of like a walrus moustache on a dog,” Bellamy says thoughtfully. 

“Look at his tail! He’s so happy,” Clarke sighs. And then: “Ah! Look at that one - the puppy! It’s a tiny ball of fluff!”

“Yeah, look at it pooping literally its own weight right now,” Bellamy replies. Clarke hits him again.

“Okay, look at that sausage dog. Look at it. Look at it’s little face and it’s little feet and it’s little tummy almost touching the ground and tell me that is not fucking cute,” Clarke tries. Bellamy is slightly charmed, he admits to himself. But…

“Yeah, look at it’s future back problems and skin rashes. Seriously, the vet bill on that dog is going to be massive. It’s a rich person dog,” Bellamy says, blunt, and Clarke snorts and bumps his shoulder with hers.

“You are the worst,” she tells him. “How can you not like dogs? You seem like such a dog person. Okay, but look at that one. That mutt over there that is clearly eight types of dog at least and has the big patch over it’s eye. Look at that dog, walking happily beside it’s owner, and tell me that it isn’t at least a little bit aesthetically pleasing.” Bellamy can’t stop his smile, because it’s Clarke, and this is how she wants to spend her shitty day, eating burgers messily and pointing at dogs. With him.

“See! I knew it! Dog person. You’d adopt some mangy stray like you do with all your human strays and love it forever. Love’s not actually weakness you know,” Clarke says, triumphant, and he laughs at her. 

“Is this part of Octavia’s ongoing mission to get me to buy a dog? I keep telling her to get a backyard and get her own dog, but she doesn’t listen,” Bellamy says. Clarke shakes her head.

“No, I just like dogs. We had a dog, well, it was Dad’s dog. But after… he used to bark at thunder and I’d get up and sit with him and keep him calm through the night. But, I went to college and couldn’t take him and then Mom just… while I was away she had him put down,” Clarke says quietly, looking at the burger mess in her lap instead of anywhere else, and Bellamy feels sick and angry. “I get why, but I didn’t get to say goodbye and it was just another way that she was cutting Dad out of our lives. And Dad was a dog person. He’d have had eight if she’d let him.” Clarke looks up at him with a small, sad smile. “It’s… it’s ten years today. Since Dad… since I lost him.” Bellamy nods and puts his arm around her shoulders and she leans into him. He can tell that she’s crying, just a little, but her body’s not moving with it. He wants to tell her she can let it out, but that’s not his place, and it isn’t his grief.

“I’m a dog person, too,” Clarke says quietly. “There’s just something in me that feels better after I’ve hugged a dog. I miss having one around in my life.” And that’s something that Bellamy understands. For him, it’s that god awful nag champa incense his mother always burned. He keeps a pack of it in the bottom drawer of his kitchen and sometimes when he’s feeling homesick, or misses her, he’ll take a whiff, and then put it away again, and it quiets something in him that nothing else does.

“I get that,” he says softly, and lets her be against him, in the moment.

  
  
  


Raven’s meant to have physical therapy on Wednesday nights. But… instead Bellamy and Miller pick her up from the garage she works at drag her to the cement half-court at the park they all (separately) got drunk at in high school and shoot some hoops. They don’t talk about why they kidnap her, just… she stopped going to therapy because she hated the physiotherapist and she felt weak. This way they can just pretend they’re hanging out as Raven stretches her leg tentatively and does some light jogging. It also helps that she played basketball in high school competitively, and even with a limp, she can still trounce them. 

“So, when are you going to get around to asking Clarke on a date?” Raven asks, after stealing the ball from him and scoring from the three point line. Which is really just adding insult to injury at this point. Miller snorts, and looks away. Bellamy scowls.

“Yes, because we all have such fantastically successful romantic lives that we love talking about. Absolutely let’s talk about that,” Bellamy deadpans. Raven rolls her eyes as she moves to collect the ball. 

“I’m just saying, it’s pretty obvious you like her, but she is way too good for you,” Raven continues. Bellamy is aware she’s way too good for him, but he had been hoping he wasn’t pretty obvious about liking her though. 

“And how is Wick doing?” Bellamy asks, instead. Miller coughs, slightly strangled, and is clearly trying to not be involved in this conversation. Raven scowls at him.

“It was just a question,” Raven says, defensive. “And it’s Clarke. We like Clarke. We want to keep Clarke. But we like you more and we don’t want to see you hurt either.” Bellamy looks from Raven to Miller.

“Is this a thing you people talk about when I’m not around? Seriously. It’s not a thing. We’re good,” Bellamy says, and it’s almost the truth. Miller makes another small sound and Bellamy turns on him.

“And how are you going with your crush on Monty?” Bellamy asks him. Miller’s face hardens into a blank mask, and it’s Raven’s turn to snort. 

“Can we go back to talking about anything but this now?” Bellamy asks. 

“How about the Super Bowl?” Miller asks, sarcastic, and Raven throws the ball at his face. 

  
  
  


Bellamy finds himself looking at dogs when he’s on his nightly jog. He’s normally pretty involved in whatever audiobook or podcast he’s listening to, and barely notices other people on the track. But all of a sudden there are dogs everywhere. There’s a labrador, and a teenager jogging with a spaniel with a weird face, and an old man walking what appears to be an arthritic pitbull. There’s a woman pushing a pram with a dalmatian loping along beside her, and he thinks, for the first time, that it might not be so bad to own a dog. And if Clarke ever needed a dog hug, she’d have one. And it would make Octavia happy. He jogs, so it would get exercise. He could afford to keep one and look after it. He could own a dog. Adopt a dog. A weird scruffy mutt with lots of personality. Then he catches himself. He doesn’t want a dog. Or to buy a dog as a weird token of his love for his best friend that will live with him until it (the dog) dies regardless of his changing feelings. He might fall in love and get married and have a dog he bought for Clarke. Or Clarke could fall in love and get married or move away and he’d be stuck with the constant reminder that he was in love with her, which seemed more likely. He’s definitely not going to buy a dog. 

  
  


Bellamy has a landmark bad day a week later. He knows he wants to talk to Clarke, to see her. But he’s honestly not sure he’s even got the energy to seek her out. One of his parents overdosed on Sunday, but they didn’t actually die until Tuesday morning, and of course the six year old and the eight year old didn’t really realise their mother was unconscious and dying, and even if they did their mother’s probably told them never to call the ambulance because of money. But he really did not need to hear an eight year old tell him that his mother wouldn’t wake up on the phone in a voice so small and fragile that it could have been his own as a child. He’d only called because the school called him when they were non-attenders without explanation two days in a row. He’d shown up with two paramedics and a police officer, standard operating procedure, and he’d sat with two kids way too young to have this life while their mother was pronounced dead. Fortunately, there was a crisis foster family available to take them together, but it had been the longest day he’d had in a really long time. He really did not think he had it in him to do crisis work much longer. He can’t face his sister right now, and when she calls, he ignores it. It could have been them, and he knows he’s meant to go for supervision at times like this but he’s not ready to talk about it either. 

 

Clarke finds him. She arrives to find him sitting on his verandah, not even feeling like he wants to go inside to his life and the comfort he has now. She’s carrying the messy burgers that take too long to arrive, a six pack of hard apple cider, and tells him they’re going to the dog park. He thinks about arguing, because he’s got nothing left him, but Clarke gives him a look, and he stands up and falls into step beside her. He tries not to notice the way her shoulder covers his, protective and supportive, and he wonders if anyone’s ever looked after him like this before. 

“How did you find out?” Bellamy asks as they walk. Clarke gives him a look.

“Bad news travels fast. And, like, half your coworkers think we’re dating and wanted to make sure I knew to take care of you tonight,” she tells him, smiling about his coworkers, like it’s funny and sweet, and not like it is brand new information that he has a massive crush on her. So she knows, he thinks, and she’s done nothing about it. Not exactly the news he wanted, but he’d suspected it anyway. And she’s still his best friend. It’s probably a good day to hear it, because he doesn’t think he can summon an emotion about anything except those kids.

“I hope you told them that we weren’t going to have pity sex because I had a bad day,” Bellamy offers and Clarke laughs.

“While sexual healing might be fun, my vagina is, unfortunately, not magic, and it ain’t gonna fix this one,” Clarke says, and Bellamy tries not to focus on the fact that Clarke said the word ‘vagina’ for the first time in his hearing. He’s failing, miserably, and his face must be a picture, because Clarke laughs again, and then he’s laughing with her. 

 

They sit on the ground (after Bellamy scouts for dog poo), and watch some people playing fetch with their dogs. 

“I love how honest dogs are,” Clarke says. “There’s not a deceptive bone in their bodies. They’re so excited to fetch that ball back, they’re excited to have pats, and they just enjoy being alive. I wish it was that easy for us.” She has some egg running down her cheek and tomato relish on her nose and she seems to not care at all and it’s the best thing he’s ever seen in his life. But he sighs, and the day presses on his chest. 

“I loved my mother, but she was… she was essentially selfish and O and I, we paid the price. And shit like today just… brings it back, you know? Like, we climbed out of that with our fucking teeth, and thank god she didn’t die before I was old enough to get custody. But… she lost us, more than once, but she always got us back. And… those kids today? They’re not going to have that. The older one is never going to forget and the younger one is probably not going to remember their mother at all,” Bellamy says, watching a couple of kids play with a dog, supervised by their father. Clarke nods, and then leans her head against his shoulder with a sigh. 

“Today was fucked up,” Clarke agrees. “And we deal with fucked up people everyday, and fucked up situations, but today was worse. But you… you did good today, Bell. If this fucked up thing had to happen, I’m glad those kids had you.” Bellamy swallows thickly and ignores the need to cry.

“I became a social worker because of my shitty childhood. But I think…,” he trails off, shaking his head. Clarke raises hers from his shoulder and looks at him.

“It’s okay to need or want to work in a less intense environment, even temporarily. We burn out easily, and this shit is close to home. We can’t… we don’t save them, it’s not our job, and we just can’t. All we can do is what we can do, and we can’t do anything for anyone if we don’t look after ourselves,” Clarke says softly. “But today’s not the day you decide that. Today’s the day we eat our feelings and point at dogs.” Bellamy swallows again, thick, and then he smiles, just a little, and takes a pull of his cider. The pit in his torso shrinks a little. 

“That,” he says after a moment, pointing to a large shaggy dog who appeared to have gone to sleep. “Is a terrible dog.” It’s owner yanked ineffectually at the leash. Clarke snorted.

“Hey, it might be hard work being a dog. You don’t know it’s life,” Clarke tells him. “He could have had a really active day.” 

“Yeah, a real active day eating food and napping,” Bellamy retorts, and Clarke shoves him, smearing sauce on his arm from the burger. 

“Okay, but what about that one,” Clarke points, pointing to thin black dog who appeared to be trying to literally jump over a tree. Bellamy shook his head.

“That dog is trouble. That’s the Octavia of dogs. Someone probably once told it that it couldn’t jump over that tree and now it’s going to just to prove that asshole wrong,” Bellamy says, and Clarke laughs.

“Yes, I love it. Okay, who’s next. Oh! That one, the golden retriever, that’s Monty. So beautiful, so elegant,” Clarke begins.

“So hiding a mischievous personality. But he does have kind eyes,” Bellamy admits. Clarke grins, and he grins back. 

“Okay, pick one for me,” Clarke instructs, before drinking her cider. Bellamy looks around the park, considering. 

“The rottweiler,” he deadpans, and she shoves him again, nearly spilling his cider, but she is unrepentant. 

“Be serious,” she instructs. “I’ll do one for you if you do one for me.” Bellamy goes back to looking at the dogs.

“Okay, that one, the fluffy white one that is latched to that dude’s leg,” he says, pointing to a maltese terrier. Clarke glares at him. “No, I’m serious. You look all sweet and innocent, but you’d probably a shiv a guy in the right circumstances.” She laughs.

“Okay, maybe you do know me,” Clarke agrees. “But you’re definitely that newfoundland over there. It looks all big and mean but it’s just a giant softie,” she adds, pointing to a large black fluffy dog that appeared to be attempting to hug a laughing six year old girl. He really wants to argue, but he probably can’t, so he eats his burger instead.

“That one’s Raven,” Clarke says, after a while, pointing to greyhound. “And Miller is so a staffy.” Bellamy huffs out a laugh, and then Clarke stops, and looks at him, like she can see right through him.

“You’re going to be okay, Bell,” she says, and he believes her. It’s the most dangerous thing about her, he thinks, that he always believes her. He nods, looking away from her.

“I needed this,” he says, instead of confessing his love, which is a stupid sudden urge. “Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” Clarke asks, but her voice sounds too light, and something is slightly off, but he ignores it.

“Whatever it is, this is above and beyond,” Bellamy tells her. “Come on, I’m gonna freeze my ass off if we stay out here much longer.” Clarke doesn’t say anything, but she stands with him, and keeps in step with him all the way home. 

  
  
  


Monty is the one who calls him. Bellamy has a lot of questions about how it was Monty that called and what exactly happened, but focusses on the essentials. Clarke is not okay, she got a call from her mother, and she just kind of ran off. Bellamy’s sure that Monty tried to explain what actually happened, but he stopped listening, swallowed the panic, and drove to the dog park. He finds her sitting on the grass, crying, looking at dogs. He sends a quick group message saying he’s found her and not to panic. Then he sits beside her, not saying anything, and waits for her to be ready to speak. When she rests her head against his shoulder he shifts, wrapping an arm around her and she buries her face against him and he struggles not to tense his arm, not to push, to just be her friend when he wants to fight the world for her. 

“I knew you’d find me,” she says when she speaks. He presses his lips to the crown of her head, just for a moment, and then he looks back at the park. 

“What happened?” he asks. She sighs.

“My mother’s getting married and selling the house I grew up in,” Clarke says. “It’s stupid. But it’s Dad’s birthday and she forgot and today’s the day she tells me.” It’s not something Bellamy understands, having a house that you grow up in. They’re just a montage of shitty places with mould and ratty carpet to him. But it’s not like that for Clarke, and he knows how she feels about the way her mother’s erasure of her father. 

“Well, that is shit,” Bellamy agrees. “But you scared the shit out of Monty.” Clarke half sobs, half laughs. 

“Oh god, Monty. We were having lunch and I bolted. Is he okay?” she asks. Bellamy nods. 

“Yeah, I told them I found you,” Bellamy says. And then he has an idea. “But this whole dog park thing… wouldn’t it work better if you actually got to interact with a dog?” Clarke looks at him like he’s a little crazy, but he pulls her up, and drags her along with him.

“Excuse me, hi, my friend is having a really, truly, awful day and would love to hug your dog,” Bellamy says to the first person they meet. It’s a mother with a small kid and some sort of spaniel, Bellamy thinks. She smiles sympathetically.

“Go for your life,” she says. “Maxie here loves the attention.” Clarke looks between the woman and Bellamy like they’re crazy, and then she looks at the dog, drops to her knees and hugs it for all she’s worth. Maxie licks her face and Clarke laughs as the owner scolds him, and she holds him for just a little longer before letting go.

“Thank you,” Clarke says, standing back up, dusting the paw prints off her jeans. The woman smiles.

“Any time,” she says, and then continues on her walk. Clarke beams at him, her eyes shining, possibly with tears, and she loops her arms around him, hugging him tight and quick, but she holds him like air in her lungs, a slow release, and his arms go around her almost automatically. He presses his nose to the crown of her head.

“That was perfect,” she sighs into his chest, and then steps back, still smiling. And Bellamy knows with sudden clarity that he’s buying a fucking dog. Because he would do literally anything to see that look on her face on a regular basis.  He’s so done for. 

  
  


It’s Sunday night, and someone’s (‘Jasper, goddamnit!’) started Raven and Monty off on some bizarre newspaper construction challenge (‘Of course Bellamy has stacks of newspaper just kicking around in his spare room’ ‘Hey! I like to stay informed’ ‘It’s called the internet, old man’), and they’ve formed teams with Miller and Raven against Clarke and Monty, while Jasper and Lincoln referee. It’s not the normal after dinner activity, but it’s never a quiet movie like Bellamy plans it’s going to be. He and Octavia had retreated to the kitchen when it became clear they were going to have to pick a side if they stayed. And it feels like a good time to sound out his veterinarian sister on dog ownership.

“So, hypothetically speaking, if I were to get a dog, what sort of dog should I get?” Bellamy asks. Octavia almost drops the glass that she’s drying, and stares at him, mouth gaping. 

“You’re… getting a dog?” she asks, her voice steadily increasing in pitch, and Bellamy’s worried about the glasses again. He sighs.

“I’m thinking about getting a dog. It’s a big responsibility and a lot to consider. But I just thought, you’re a vet, you probably have some relevant knowledge for this decision,” Bellamy tells her. Octavia blinks a couple of times, pausing.

“I think… I think that’s the first time you’ve come to me for real advice,” she says gently, and Bellamy shrugs awkwardly. He knows she’s feeling respected and grown up, and he’s done that for her, but she’s still his kid sister, and it’s still a line he’s figuring how to walk. They both are. 

“Well, are you going to give me some?” he challenges, instead of having ‘a moment’. Octavia goes to answer, and then her eyes narrow and her hands move to her hips.

“This is about Clarke, isn’t it?” Octavia accuses him. “You’re getting a dog for Clarke.” 

“No, I’m getting a dog. It might be nice. Something comforting on the bad days. Jogging partner. Great way to meet girls,” Bellamy defends himself. They’re mostly arguments O’s already used on him in the past, but she’s clearly not convinced.

“You’re not doing this to meet new girls, though, are you?” she challenges. And he sighs.

“Look, it’s not like I couldn’t look after a dog well,” he begins in his defense. Octavia takes a deep breath, raising her hand to stop him speaking.

“She is in the next room, so I can not yell at you. Because I’m your sister and I love you. But as your sister who loves you, do not buy a dog for your not-girlfriend when you can’t even get up the stones to tell her how you feel,” Octavia instructs him. It’s solid logic. But… 

“You didn’t see her face when she hugged the dog, O,” Bellamy says. It’s the worst argument in the world. “It was a spiritual experience.” Octavia scoffs.

“Well, duh, hugging dogs IS a spiritual experience,” she retorts. And then she sighs, resigned. “You’re basically buying a dog no matter what I say at this point, aren’t you?” Bellamy considers this for a moment.

“I did have a little hope you’d be able to talk me out of it, but… no, I’m definitely getting a dog. It’s a stupid thing to do, and I don’t even like dogs that much but I’ll probably love it when it’s here. I loved you when you got here, after all,” Bellamy teases her, and she flicks him with the tea towel as he dances away. 

“You’re such a human disaster. Can you take lunch tomorrow? We’ll head to the shelter together and I’ll make sure you aren’t buying some three-legged mutt with rabies because it looked sad,” Octavia says. And then she pauses, before yelling into the next room: “Hey Lincoln! We don’t have any lunch surgeries tomorrow, do we?” 

“No? Why?” Lincoln asks. 

“Because my brother is a DISASTER and needs me,” she replies. Bellamy tries to feel offended. She has, after all, just announced he’s a disaster to all of their shared friends, but it’s not like it’s a lie. 

“And that’s new how?” Miller yells, to laughter. Octavia sighs again, and looks at him.

“Have you thought about just telling her how you feel?” she asks. “You’re a catch under all the disaster, and you’d probably be good for each other.” Bellamy shakes his head. There’s a million reasons going through his head, but ultimately… he’s pretty sure he’s not good enough for her, he’d be a pit stop; a chapter in her life. He’s not the guy she’ll end up with, and it would kill him to know what it would be like to have her, and then to lose her. 

“What we have is enough,” he says, simply. “I’m not pining, or waiting for her.” 

“Is it going to be enough when she falls in love with someone else and marries them because she never knew you were an option?” Octavia challenges him, and he feels vaguely ill at the thought. He wants to argue she wouldn’t just leave him like that, or that she’d preserve their friendship. Wants to believe in her, in their friendship, in the greater good of the world… but…

“Then I’ll have a dog to comfort me,” Bellamy replies, and Octavia snaps the tea towel at him again.

  
  


Bellamy’s not sure exactly how it became a thing, but Raven comes to the shelter as well. Mainly, it would seem, to heckle him about his poor life choices.

“I can’t believe you’re buying a girl you’re not even dating a dog,” Raven says as they wait for O. “I mean, that’s some next level shit right there.” 

“I’m morally opposed to giving someone the gift of the responsibility of a life. Which is why I wear condoms, and why I’m not buying Clarke a dog,” Bellamy responds. Raven rolls her eyes.

“You’d love babies. You’d take the babies. I’m surprised you haven’t knocked some poor girl up so you could Rumplestiltskin the baby,” Raven says. Bellamy snorts.

“There is something seriously wrong with you,” Bellamy tells her. “You need therapy. From qualified professionals.” Raven grins, wicked, and he’s so glad they’re friends.

“There’s something wrong with me? I’m not buying someone I’m secretly pining after a dog,” Raven points out. Bellamy considers hitting her, but…

“Shut up,” he says. “Or I’ll leave and come back when you aren’t here to commentate.” 

“Fine,” Raven says. “But I’m only staying to make sure that you pick the most ridiculous dog here. I need to know that you picked the most ridiculous and Octavia might be biased by medical things.”

“The whole point of Octavia being here is medical things,” Octavia says as she arrives. “But let’s be real, he’s going to buy the most ridiculous dog. It’s going to be like a seven breed mutt with uneven ears.” Bellamy sighs. He’d love to argue, but let’s be real… he’s probably going to pick the seven breed mutt. 

  
  


He doesn’t pick the seven breed mutt. 

“That is a great dane,” Octavia says. He nods, entranced. The great dane is blue grey, sitting in his cage on the concrete floor looking up at Bellamy happily. 

“That dog is the size of a fucking horse,” Raven says. 

“Who’s a good boy?” Bellamy asks. The great dane wags it’s tail. He looks at the info sheet. “Your name is Brutus? What kind of asshole named you Brutus?”

“A you kind of asshole,” Octavia points out, he had, after all, named her. 

“This is ridiculous. But a different kind of ridiculous than I was expecting,” Raven says. “Can I build a cart for him to pull me around in?” Bellamy looks at her in horror.

“No! Look at him! He needs love, not to be turned into a carthorse,” Bellamy says indignantly. He’s not entirely sure why he’s fallen in love with a great dane with admitted lopsided ears. But he has. He’s in love. Brutus is coming home with him.

“This is… you do understand the level of work a great dane requires, yeah? Like, that’s a big dog with bigger food requirements, bigger vet bills, bigger everything, basically. It’s going to cost you like three times what that weird terrier would,” Octavia points out. 

“I’m hoping you’ll give me mates rates on the vet bills,” Bellamy says, dry. 

“They’re needy, lazy, and will poop literal mountains,” Octavia continues. “And grooming is going to be a thing to consider because it weighs more than I do.” Bellamy sighs.

“What I hear you saying is that this is a large, impractical dog,” he says.

“That is what I am saying,” Octavia agrees. She gives him a considering look. “And you’re adopting him anyway.

“Yep,” Bellamy says. 

“Next level ridiculous,” Raven repeats. And Bellamy huffs.

“If you could stop insulting my dog, that would be awesome,” Bellamy says. And then he turns back to Brutus. “You’re coming home with me, buddy, yes you are.”

“Oh god, he’s baby-talking the dog,” Raven mutters. 

“I’ve been telling him to get a dog for years,” Octavia replies to her. “But no, he didn’t want a dog. And now he’s adopting a great fucking dane.”

“Human disaster,” Raven says. Bellamy glares at them.

“Yeah, you can go get a person so I can do some paperwork and mock me out of earshot,” Bellamy offers. 

  
  


“Are you sure?” the girl asks. She looks like she’s on work experience, and she’s looking dubiously between Brutus, Bellamy, and her clipboard. “He’s a bit… daft.” 

“Oh my god, he picked a dog that’s not all there,” Raven snickers to Octavia.

“Of course he did,” O agrees. 

“Of course I’m sure,” Bellamy says loudly. Brutus is sitting at his feet, looking from the leash in Bellamy’s hand to the clipboard. “Brutus and I are going to be good friends, aren’t we?” He goes to pat Brutus’ head, and Brutus licks him, wet. He doesn’t make a face and counts that a win.

“We’ll work on that,” he says to Brutus. Then he turns back to the girl. “I’m really sure. This is the dog for me.” 

“Clarke’s going to lose her shit,” Raven hisses. And Octavia laughs. Bellamy shoots them a glare as he finishes the paperwork.

“I do not know why you are all doubting Brutus and I. We’re going to be fine. He’s a good dog,” Bellamy says defensively. Brutus wags his tail heavily and Raven nearly falls over bad leg getting out of the way.

“Your dog is a menace and you should get personal liability insurance,” Raven says. Octavia snorts.

“You should get pet insurance. But your premiums will probably be more than your car,” she adds. Bellamy sighs. 

“You know, either one of you at any point could be like, ‘Hey Bellamy, I’m sorry your life has devolved to the point where you’re buying a great dane because you’ve accepted you’re going to be single forever and the girl you’re secretly in love with loves dogs’. But no, you’re all joyful mocking. I’m going to remember this the next you need my help. And then Brutus and I are going to stay in and watch documentaries on ancient warfare,” he says, vaguely petulant. The girl behind the counter smiles at him as he finishes up his paperwork. He arranges to pick Brutus up after work so he doesn’t have to deal with it in the twenty minutes he has left of lunch.

“We are actually worried about you,” Raven admits before she leaves. “But, honestly? Mocking you seems like the best route to take.” Octavia nods, and Bellamy sighs. 

“I really think Brutus was a good choice though,” he says. And he means it. He’s looking forward to hugging the dog a lot. And getting him home and shopping for him and taking him for a walk. 

“He’s gonna eat everything you love,” Raven says. “But he’s probably alright. You have pretty good taste in strays.” Octavia presses a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll drop a care package around tonight. Try not to do anything else stupid before then,” she says before disappearing down the street. Bellamy watches them go for a moment, and tries to decide whether or not he should text Clarke and tell her that he just adopted the biggest dog he’s ever seen in his entire life. It’s probably more of a phone call conversation.

  
  


“What are you doing tonight?” Bellamy asks when she answers on his walk back to the office. Clarke groans.

“You know how my mother is getting married and selling the house?” Clarke asks. 

“Mmm,” Bellamy agrees.

“The house is probably going under contract tomorrow so she wants me to go over and get the last things I want before she probably just throws everything on a fire in the backyard,” Clarke says, bitter and sarcastic. Bellamy sighs.

“That’s really shitty,” he says. He wants to add something else, about how she’s strong or he loves her, or she’s got this… or at least offer to go with her, but it all feels so boyfriend-y and awkward. And then he figures he’d offer to go anyway but…

“I have some non-shitty news. Well, I’m pretty sure the news involves actual feces,” Bellamy begins. “And I’d offer to go with you tonight, but I’m kind of busy with my news.”

“Prostitute with diarrhea?” Clarke asks. “Actual human baby from a one night stand you just found out about? Re-enacting pioneers using newspaper for toilet paper?” 

“You’re hilarious,” Bellamy deadpans. “No, I just… I went to the animal shelter and now I own a great dane named Brutus.” The line is bizarrely silent. 

“Is this a joke?” Clarke asks. “Because it sounds like it could be a joke.” Bellamy clicks his tongue in agreement. 

“It’s not a joke,” he reassures her. “Great dane, blue grey, weird ears, named Brutus.”

“You adopted a great dane. Named Brutus,” Clarke repeats. There is a discomforting lack of tone. Bellamy wonders why he feels nervous about this. It’s his dog and his decision and he didn’t buy it for Clarke (he totally bought it for Clarke, oh god, what if she hates great danes? It’s not Clarke’s dog, it’s his dog and he loves him so it’s irrelevant). 

“Raven and Octavia were there. I’m picking him up after work tonight and taking him home,” Bellamy offers. 

“You bought a dog without me?” Clarke asks, and she sounds kind of hurt. “Not that, I mean, why would you need me there? Your sister is a vet. It’s just, I love dogs. I could have looked at dogs with you.” Bellamy swallows thickly. He wanted it to be a surprise is so not a thing he can say right now. 

“It wasn’t exactly… I mean, I didn’t really think I’d adopt one today,” Bellamy says. And it’s almost the truth. “I just kind of saw Brutus and… well… he’s my dog.” Clarke laughs a little at that.

“Of course. Okay, well, clearly I’m cancelling my plans and coming to hang out with you and Brutus. And then you can make up that you didn’t take me dog shopping by coming with me to my mother’s tomorrow night,” Clarke announces. He smiles, because she wanted to be part of this, his life, and she wants him to be there for her when things are hard. And this is exactly what he wants from her, needs from her. Sure, he’d like to touch her and hold her and kiss her and… but it’d just be a bonus, really. It’s life that he wants with her, and it’s what they’ve got, at the end of the day.

“Deal. But you’re bringing dinner over because apparently I have a lot of very large accessories to buy,” Bellamy negotiates, and Clarke laughs and agrees. He’s relatively sure that Brutus will attempt to eat whatever food she brings, and that Clarke’s going to let him, but he’s honestly okay with that.

  
  


“Alright,” Clarke says, standing beside Bellamy on the back porch of his house. They’re watching Brutus roll around on his back around the perimeter of the backyard. “So… that is the biggest dog I have seen in my entire life. You said ‘great dane’ and I thought ‘big dog’ but he’s bigger.” Bellamy nods.

“I thought dogs usually urinated to mark their territory,” Bellamy replies. “But he’s just kind of… rolling on everything.” Clarke nods.

“I think your dog might have… some neurological challenges,” Clarke says delicately. Bellamy frowns at her.

“Are you insulting Brutus? Because people need to stop insulting my dog,” Bellamy starts. Clarke laughs.

“No, I’m saying he’s perfect. Look at him,” Clarke says. Brutus rolls onto his feet and looks at them proudly, wagging his tail, as if he’s saying ‘see what I have accomplished, humans, this yard is now mine’. He barks once, and then lopes up on the to back porch and lays down at Bellamy’s feet. 

“He’s pretty great,” Bellamy agrees. “I think he weighs as much as I do though. Raven might be right about getting some kind of public liability insurance on him.” Clarke laughs again, and drops down to hug Brutus.

“Na, he’s just a giant softie, aren’t you, Brutus? Who’s a good boy? Is it you?” Clarke asks, patting him. Brutus’ tail thumps happily and he leans into Clarke. Who laughs as she tries to maintain her balance on her haunches. 

“Don’t knock her over, Brutus, she might not love you anymore,” Bellamy says lightly. Both woman and animal turn to look at him scandalised.

“Excuse you, I’ll love him forever,” Clarke says with such conviction that it leaves him a little speechless. Brutus butts his head into her shoulder, as if to agree with and return the sentiment, and Bellamy’s not so convinced his dog is as daft as everyone seems to think he is. In fact, Bellamy thinks as Brutus and Clarke hug each other, he’s pretty much got life figured out. 

  
  


Brutus, it turns out, does not love to jog. Which, given his size, probably wouldn’t be a problem because Bellamy would have assumed his paces would have been quite large. But Brutus doesn’t really like to walk either. He more likes to lay down or roll on his back. 

“This isn’t going to work out if you don’t work with me here, bud,” Bellamy tells him. In the time he normally completes his usual route, they’ve barely gotten five blocks. “You were meant to jog with me. It was going to be a thing.” Brutus looks up at him from where he’s rolling on his back. “Do you have a grass seed in there or something? Like, is it time to go to the vet?” Brutus rolls up into a sitting position. “Here’s the deal. I jog every second night. Which means you jog every second night. And I’ll give you an extra bone if we make it all the way. That’s fair, right?” Bellamy asks. Brutus looks up at him, trustingly. Bellamy realises at this point that he is trying to have a legitimate conversation with an animal that doesn’t speak his language. “I need a beer.”

  
  


It’s probably overkill, but Bellamy still makes Octavia babysit Brutus for him the following night. 

“It’s just that it’s his second night here and I have to go out and I feel bad,” he justifies to Octavia. She rolls her eyes dramatically.

“You’re ridiculous. And so is your dog,” she says. But she’s sitting on the couch and Brutus has his head in her lap and he’s pressed against her legs. 

“Do not let him on the couch,” Bellamy says, and Octavia gives him another look to communicate that he’s ridiculous.

“I am trained at a university level to handle animals and any emergencies that may arrive,” Octavia replies dryly. “Go help Clarke do the hard shit, I’ll take care of Brutus.” Bellamy gives one last look at Brutus to plead with him to be a good boy. 

“I’ll be back by like ten at the latest,” he says, still hovering in the doorway. 

“I can not wait to you have human children. You’re going to be neurotic. This is why you didn’t want a dog, isn’t it? Because you didn’t want everyone to know you would mother hen a pot plant given the opportunity,” Octavia teases him, and it’s her affectionate scorn that finally drives him out the door. 

 

Clarke is waiting for him on the front fence of her block of flats. She stomps into the car before he feels he’s even truly stopped and throws herself in. 

“I want to apologise for who I become around my mother in advance,” Clarke says instead of hello. Bellamy nods.

“You’re my best friend. I’m going to love you anyway,” he says, absently. His brain catches up a half second later.

“I love you too,” Clarke replies, and he chants the words ‘as friends’ over and over in his head as she continues speaking. “But my mother turns me into exactly the person who you thought I was when we met because she is the archetype of the rich white bitch.” Bellamy nods again.

“Duly noted,” Bellamy replies. Clarke sighs heavily.

“I hate everything about this stupid thing. I hate going back to the house and I’m going to hate looking through Dad’s stuff in boxes but I know I need to and emptying out my room. She said I could have a room at the new house with Marcus but I mean… I haven’t stayed in that room since I don’t even know when. It’s stupid. And I can not thank you enough for doing this with me,” Clarke rants. “I’m really not sure I could have faced it alone.” Bellamy smiles, just a little.

“You’re Clarke mother-truckin’ Griffin,” he tells her. “And you could do anything you set your mind to. But I really don’t mind being moral support on this one.” 

“Yeah, say that after you meet my mother,” Clarke sighs. And then she groans. “She’s not even that bad. Everything I say about her is bad. I have mother issues. You’ll probably think she’s fine and I’m being dramatic about everything.” Bellamy shrugs. “And your mother was actually shitty.” She looks horrified when Bellamy cuts his eyes to her. “Oh my god, I didn’t… if I’m not meant to say that about your mother, I’m sorry-,”

“She was shitty,” Bellamy cuts her off, reassuring. “I loved her but she was literally an addict, a prostitute, and made some genuinely horrific choices. You’re still allowed to think your mother is shitty. We don’t choose our family.” 

“I think we do,” Clarke says. “Not in a, you know, spiritual predestined way. I just mean… Sunday night at your place, that’s family. It’s everything that family means to me. It’s how I used to feel before everything turned to shit at home. The rest is just the blood we live with until we’re ready to find them.” Warmth pools in his chest.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he agrees. 

  
  


Abby Griffin is… Well, he knows Clarke’s going to age well. The colouring is different, but they are almost identical in features. But there’s something in the set of Abby’s mouth that makes him want to fight the patriarchy, and convinces him that she’s part of patriarchy. She smiles at Clarke when she opens the door and there’s a flash in her eyes that tells Bellamy he wasn’t expected before the mask is firmly in place.

“Clarke, you brought a friend along,” Abby says, sweet. “Extra manpower for those boxes?” He can tell it’s meant to be forgiving of the surprise and lightly humorous, but Clarke scowls.

“Moral support as I pack up what’s left of my childhood, actually,” Clarke replies archly. Bellamy fights a grin - he probably should not find this amusing. Abby winces almost imperceptibly.

“Well, come on in. Marcus and I are just in the kitchen if you need us,” Abby says. “If you need anything just… You know what you’re doing.” It’s defeat in her voice, and Bellamy almost wants to pat her on the back, but he’s definitely Team Clarke and Abby should know how to play the game by now. 

“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Clarke says in a voice that tells her mother that she better not disturb the process of packing if she wants to live. 

“I’m Abby, by the way,” she says as she steps back to allow her daughter entry. “And you’re… Bellamy? I presume? Clarke speaks of you often.” Bellamy can’t stop the smug grin on his face. She speaks of him often. Often. He promises himself to resist the urge to probe for details on precisely how often she speaks of him and exactly what she says about him.

“Yeah, Bellamy Blake, nice to meet you,” he says, offering a hand and trying really hard not to look at Clarke. 

“I’m glad to finally meet you, even under less than pleasant circumstances,” Abby says, accepting the handshake, the perpetual hostess. Bellamy gives her hand a squeeze before releasing it.

“Me too,” he says, because it seems like the thing to say. He wonders if he should compliment her on having such a quality daughter, because it seems like the kind of thing rich people would say. But he’s equally sure that Clarke would probably literally stab him with a box cutter if he said it.

“I’m sure Clarke will bring you to the wedding,” Abby continues. “And we’ll have more time to get to know each other then.” Bellamy stares at her a little vacantly, because he’s never been to a wedding where you’ve actually had time to talk to the bride and groom. “Clarke has told you about the wedding?” Abby asks, tentative, glancing at her daughter. Bellamy resists the urge to do the same, but he can feel the emotion emanating off her. “It’s a destination wedding, just family, and close friends really. But we’re going for a week, expenses paid, so we can really reconnect with people.” Bellamy nods.

“It sounds lovely,” he agrees. “Weddings can be such productions and you barely have time to enjoy yourself, let alone see your guests.” Abby smiles with something like relief.

“Exactly,” she agrees. “I hope you’ll feel welcome to come.”

“Okay!” Clarke almost yells. “We’re going now,” she says at a more normal volume but equally annoyed tone, and she grabs Bellamy by the wrist and yanks him off towards the staircase. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“Nice to meet you,” Abby calls after them. 

“Likewise,” Bellamy replies, but they’re already at the top of the stairs and Clarke is shoving him into a room, so he’s not convinced Abby hears.

 

He stands in the middle of the room for a moment before registering that he’s standing in Clarke’s teenage bedroom. She’s leaning against the door, arms folded, and he knows he should probably say something, but instead he’s looking at the walls. On one, she’s painted a mural of a forest with a floor of bluebells. He knew she painted, but it’s something else to see it like this. Another wall is full of angry and beautiful charcoal sketches. Her desk is the most pristine area of the room, and he can imagine Clarke staring at the clean white wall, covered in study-related post-its… 

“I am so sorry,” Clarke says. “It’s… well. Let’s just say your co-workers aren’t the only ones who think we’re dating.” Bellamy’s throat closes over and he wonders if this is a moment he gets to actually say the thing instead of assuming she knows the thing and doesn’t agree. He’s a little paralysed with his back to her, staring at her desk.

“Um, okay,” he says eventually. “That’s... “ He’s got nothing. He works the nerve up to turn around and Clarke is already throwing things haphazardly in a box, yanking sketches off a wall. 

“I just, she assumed, and I never corrected. My love life is a disaster zone. As you know. And then I talk about you a lot because you’re you. And she… god. Awkward. I don’t… it’s easier to not correct and I want her to be happy and you’re… well, she’d like you. You’re a lot like… my dad and Marcus, they’re both idealists. And so are you. I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing if she thought I was happy,” Clarke shrugs. Bellamy says nothing, waiting until she looks at him and he’s terrified of what he’s going to see in her eyes. But all he sees is an apology when she looks around.

“Well, all of my coworkers think we’re dating,” Bellamy says. He hates himself. He’s a chicken shit, lily-livered asshole who deserves his life of solitude and Brutus. “I thought she would hate me. Low rent and all that jazz.” Clarke scoffs.

“Uh, ridiculously attractive, raised his sister, generous, kind, college-educated idealist with a heart of gold and the courage of his convictions? What’s not to love, exactly?” she asks, almost sarcastic. It’s not how he sees himself. How he thought anyone would ever see him. But it’s how she sees him, how her mother sees him. He opens a drawer of her desk and lifts the contents onto the table. 

“And yet I’m still single,” he jokes, idly, removing some art supplies. 

“Those paints are so out of date. Chuck all art supplies in the garbage,” Clarke instructs. And then: “You probably don’t have to be single if you don’t want to be. I figured you preferred it.” It’s another moment, another opportunity for him to say it or something remarkably like it. You could date me. I wouldn’t be single if I could have you. I do kind of need to be single because I’m stupid in love with my best friend, no, not Miller, you, you asshole.

“And now I have Brutus,” he says instead. “Which is clearly the better choice than a girlfriend.”

“Much better,” Clarke agrees. “We’re going to your place after this because I’m clearly going to need dog hugs.” Bellamy snorts.

“Only if you help me walk him to the dog park. He’s huge and he needs exercise and apparently he doesn’t know how to walk in a straight line for the length of a block,” Bellamy replies and Clarke laughs.

“Poor baby. It’s hard being a dog,” she says, and then everything goes back to normal and the half a dozen or more moments he could have taken to actually say the thing are gone. It’s probably for the best. 

  
  


They have the most awkward coffee of all time with Abby and Marcus before they leave. Marcus is trying to be someone Clarke doesn’t automatically hate, and Abby’s trying to make Bellamy like her because she thinks they’re dating, and Clarke just wants a dog hug and is clearly trying not to cry, and Bellamy is so far out of his depth with this family that keep saying nice, polite things to each other when there are feelings to be said. Because for all his mother was a shitty mother, she never didn’t say things that needed to be said. And Bellamy feels like the social worker in him is going to burst. 

“Abby, it was really great to meet you,” he says in the end. And then he smiles at Marcus who looks almost grateful. “You too, Marcus. But this has been really hard for Clarke, and I think maybe it’s time for us to go. Maybe we can all go out to dinner together some time, before the wedding. I’m sure Clarke would like the opportunity to get to know you better in a less intense emotional setting, and I would too.” He doesn’t know whether Clarke’s going to shiv him or thank him, but they are out the door and in the car in under five minutes with promises to email about scheduling dinner. So he’s calling it a win. 

“That was fucking smooth,” Clarke tells him. “Like you were born into it.” Bellamy scoffs.

“That was my social worker coming out. You people need to use your words more,” he replies, dry, and Clarke laughs, and it’s almost not bitter.

“You’re right. I know you’re right. But she turns me surly. And Marcus just wants me to like him so badly! Ugh. It’s the worst. Okay, not the worst. But I am definitely making you come to dinner with them now. And when we stage our breakup, I’m going to say you cheated on me with a Peruvian transgender man,” Clarke informs him and Bellamy laughs so hard he snorts and almost has to pull the car over. “I’m serious! Or they might keep you instead.”

“Clarke, there is no one in the world who would ever pick me when they could have you,” Bellamy tells her, sincerely. She punches his arm lightly.

“Don’t be a dumbass. Raven could have had me months ago but she’s still pining over you,” Clarke deadpans, and he’s so glad this woman is in his life because she’s the actual best and the most ridiculous. 

  
  


“I’m going to ask Monty out,” Miller says as Raven’s taking a shot. It goes wide and Bellamy and Raven turn to stare at him where he’s sitting on a park bench watching them. 

“If that was your attempt to ensure Bellamy wins I’m going to be so fucking pissed at you,” Raven says. Miller shakes his head.

“No, I’m going to do it. I’m going to text him and lowkey invite him out for drinks on Friday night,” Miller says. Bellamy raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. He can’t, really, can he?

“You guys do drinks on Friday nights all the time. That’s barely a date? Are you going to get there and be like “Surprise! We’re on a date!”?” Raven asks. Which, it’s a fair question. Miller shakes his head.

“No, I’m going to be direct. “Hey Monty, want to go on a date with me on Friday”,” Miller explains. “That’s bold. I like it,” Bellamy offers. “Good on you. He’s gonna say yes.” Miller shrugs. 

“We’re not high school girls, Bellamy. Don’t be gross,” Raven says. “But the pining is definitely mutual, bro. And you’ve got a solid game plan. What finally got you off your ass?”

“Watching Blake get so fucking pathetic over Griffin he literally bought her a dog, sorry, bought a huge, daft dog,” Miller says. 

“Fuck you,” Bellamy tosses at him. But there’s no heat in it, and they just laugh at him. “And Brutus is awesome.” Brutus looked up from where he was curled in a ball at his name. And then put his head back down on his paws. Raven and Miller raised their eyebrows at him. 

“Shut up,” Bellamy tells them. He really doesn’t have a defense. 

  
  


“Did you know that Miller was asking Monty out?” Octavia shrieked down the phone on Thursday afternoon. Bellamy winced and held the phone slightly away from his ear.

“Yes. I assume from your tone that the offer has been given and received,” Bellamy replies, dry. Octavia scoffs.

“You’re such a killjoy. Yes. Of course. They’re going to get married and have babies and it’s going to be adorable,” Octavia announces. “I’m so happy one of them finally got their shit together. Monty was convinced he was crushing on you which is stupid and Miller is just a chickenshit in general, so… this could have turned into a deathbed confession.”

“I’m so glad you put that much thought into this,” Bellamy replies. “It shows how much you care.” 

“Whereas you and Clarke won’t even be a deathbed confession. You’re both going to take your secret mutual pathetic love to your graves because you’re both idiots,” Octavia continues. “So really, I’m just saying, now would be a good time to tell Clarke that you want to have her babies.”

“I really hope this new obsession with babies isn’t a thing, O. Like, I got a dog and now you want me to procreate,” Bellamy says dryly. There is a moment of silence. “You want to procreate,” Bellamy says as he realises. “You’re trying to have a baby. My baby sister is trying to get pregnant.” He stops breathing a little.

“Don’t have a malfunction,” Octavia says. “I wasn’t going to tell you like this. I was going to be like, surprise you’re going to be an uncle. But… I’m not yet. But… we are trying. So… Don’t freak out.” Bellamy lets out a breathy laugh, and then sighs, trying to reoxygenate. 

“I’m not freaking out. Much. The normal amount. I’m freaking out the normal amount,” Bellamy replies, which he thinks is relatively accurate. “I’m pretty excited about being an uncle. It’s helping with the my little sister is old enough and mature enough to grow another person thing. Also the my baby sister is in a mature healthy relationship and I just bought a great dane feelings.”

“So roughly translated: You’re happy for me, us, right? I mean, to clarify,” Octavia tries. 

“Yeah, O, I’m happy for you guys. You’re going to have a very attractive, very awesome kid, and I’m going to spoil it rotten,” Bellamy tells her, smile evident in his voice.

“I love you, Bell,” she says. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna be a good mother, you know? Not like… like you were a good parent for me. I’m never going to let my baby be unloved or not looked after,” her voice thick with emotion. Bellamy, feels a lump in his throat he’s pretty sure he should not be feeling on a Thursday afternoon at work. 

“You’re gonna be such a good mother, O,” he says softly. “Your kid is going to be crazy loved.”

“Yeah,” O whispers back. “I have to go. I mean, there’s a rabbit desexing I need to do and I’m going to start actually crying and his testicles are really small. I cannot be vision impaired by tears when I do this.” Bellamy laughs, lump almost completely gone.

“You’re such a dork,” he says affectionately. “Go desex your rabbit. We’ll talk later.”

  
  


Clarke is waiting for him on his front steps when he and Brutus get back from their “walk”. Well, Brutus would call it a walk. Bellamy is pretty sure it barely qualified as exercise, but whatever. She looks nervous as hell, and he’s worried before he even gets in the gate. She flies to her feet and glares at him when he does make it in the gate. Brutus, the traitor (‘et tu, Brutus?’), flops himself at Clarke’s feet. 

“So, Miller asked Monty out,” Clarke begins. “Which is awesome, because they’ve been in love forever. Well, as long as I’ve known them. And Monty is a literal angelic cinnamon roll, and Miller is secretly a cinnamon roll, and it’s going to be amazing. But… Monty was so sure that Miller wasn’t into him. Like, we had long involved drunken conversations about being into these people that weren’t into us and how pining was fine and we’d deal and turns out that Monty’s wasn’t one sided. And I’m kind of… Happy for them and everything, but also pissed off, because I want to be in love with someone who’s in love with me and I also don’t want to because I’m… fuck. Lots of reasons. Love is horrifying and scary and I always, always fuck it up. But I’m basically swinging between happy and pissed off and drinking wine and then I decided to come and yell at you or hug Brutus. Or both. So.” And then she throws herself on the ground and hugs Brutus. Bellamy just stands there for a bit, trying to process everything that’s happening on his front lawn, because it’s kind of a lot of almost 9pm on a Thursday. In fact, it’s been a kind of intense week. And slowly, surely, the trickle down happens, and one salient point rests in front of his brain.

“So… I’m hearing a lot of talk about you being secretly in love with someone here,” Bellamy says, trying to sound lighthearted and best-friend-like and not like a serial killer about to wear her skin which is what he thinks he sounds like right now. “And I feel like, as your best friend, there should have been some sort of gossip girl confession.” Clarke glares at him.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” Clarke throws at him, without letting go of Brutus. “You’re a fucking… You’re just a fucking asshole and I don’t know why I like you at all.” Which is probably not inaccurate but it’s also not an answer to his question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll go first then. I, too, am secretly pining for someone. It’s shitty. I hate it. But I also love having said person in my life and don’t want to make it weird. It’s a hard balance,” Bellamy says, and he definitely sounds like a serial killer. Why oh why did he have to pick the time he actually might have the balls to tell her that he’s in love with her to sound like a fucking serial killer? Clarke glares at him.

“You need to shut up right now,” Clarke snaps. “Because I don’t want to hear about how you’re secretly in love with some bitch from work. Probably that bitch on the front desk who gives me the stink eye. Seriously, look at you. Everything about you. If you just asked her out, you’d have a girlfriend and I’d be baby-sitting your dog on your honeymoon.” Bellamy’s not sure exactly what’s happening anymore. Are they fighting? Are they not fighting? Does she actually not know he’s in love with her? Does she know and just not want to hear it? Is it… it sounds vaguely like she thinks it’s not her. But… again…

“You keep saying things about how I’m a catch. It’s not… You know that’s not… I’m not… I’m just me,” Bellamy says, sitting down on the other side of Brutus. Clarke looks at him, still glaring. “You see me as more than I am. And it’s one of the reasons that I love you. Am in love with you. So. That’s… a thing. And has been a thing for a while. And it’s fine. But… you should know that Miller only asked Monty out because I was so pathetic and he didn’t want to turn into me.” 

“If you’re fucking with me, I’m going to murder you. Or myself,” Clarke tells him. “Because this is not funny.” Bellamy nods slowly.

“No, I’m… it’s a thing,” Bellamy says. Saying the words again seems too hard right now. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. But… do you? Feel the same? I mean, it kind of sounded like you might.” There’s this air of plausible deniability that’s fading fast, and he’s sitting on the front lawn of his house with the girl he loves and the dog he loves and he’s pretty sure he’s having an out of body experience, because he can’t contain himself inside his corporeal form. 

“You’re an asshole,” Clarke tells him. “Just… you’re a fucking asshole.” Bellamy nods and looks at his feet. There was the chance that she’d react this way, and he’d known that from the start. Her love life was a series of trainwrecks and she’d vowed never to date a friend because she didn’t want to mess it up. And now… Well. 

“Right,” Bellamy replies. “That’s fair. I’m just gonna…,” he lets his voice trail off as he stands up. She didn’t deny it, but… it doesn’t matter. It’s not going to happen. He gestures inside vaguely. “I’ll leave you here with Brutus.” He doesn’t really remember what happens next, but at about one am he wakes up where he fell asleep on the couch with Brutus drooling on his chest and his front door closed. He can connect some dots. 

  
  


He never thought he’d be ‘that guy’ that would call in sick over heartbreak. And he’s not even really heartbroken. He’s kind of proud of himself for actually, finally, saying something. But he really can’t commit to giving 100% at work today, which might be fine for an accountant or an archivist, but not so great when you’re dealing with the human psyche. So he calls in sick. He thinks about texting someone, or calling them, and telling them what happened. Octavia, or Miller. But the sad truth of the matter is that he wants to call Clarke and tell her about it. Brutus, however, makes an excellent moping companion, as it contains all of his favourite activities: eating, lazing about, and napping. He wonders if Clarke has already told her mother that he was cheating on her with a Peruvian transgender man. 

 

At half past one, someone starts banging on his door. He has not ordered take out, so there is no reason anyone should be knocking on his door. And he’s really not inclined to answer it. He gets one day. One day to be a hermit and feel miserable and mope, and then he goes back out in the world and keeps living. And that one day does not include assholes knocking, repetitively on his door. 

“Open the fucking door, Bellamy,” Clarke yells. Bellamy closes his eyes. 

“No,” he calls back. “I’m moping.” He’s pretty sure the next noise is her kicking his door. 

“Open the fucking door,” she yells again. 

“This is a family neighborhood! Watch your language,” he shouts back. “I get one day and then I go back to normal.”

“If you don’t open the goddamn door, so help me god I will break a window,” Clarke threatens. Which… Bellamy considers if the threat is idle or not. 

“I’m taking off my sweater to protect my elbow,” Clarke warns. Threat not idle.

“For fuck’s sake!” Bellamy yells. “I’m coming! Jesus.” And he storms to the door and throws it open. Clarke is standing there, sweater wrapped around her elbow, glaring at him. He looks at her, really looks, for the first time in a long time, and she’s so much smaller than he thinks she is in his head. Clarke takes up space and rooms, but she’s also tiny and blonde and… he swallows.

“Could you not just give me a day, one day, to be a mopey bastard?” Bellamy asks. Clarke huffs.

“No. You weren’t at work,” she accuses. Bellamy shakes his head.

“No, I wasn’t. Because it’s been a really emotional week and I needed a day. I bought a dog, Miller and Monty started dating, Octavia told me she’s trying to have a baby, and oh yeah, I confessed my love to my best friend and she yelled at me for being an asshole,” Bellamy ranted. Clarke’s mouth twitched in something like begrudging agreement.

“That is a lot. And your best friend is an asshole too,” she snaps. Bellamy scoffs.

“I know,” he retorts. Clarke punches him lightly, and he refuses, flat refuses, to smile. He. Will. Not. Smile. Clarke’s scowl is becoming more like a smile. 

“Well, I love you too, asshole,” Clarke says. “And that’s all I wanted to say.” And then she turns on her heel and goes to walk away. In the full second it takes Bellamy’s brain to catch up with current events, she hasn’t made it quite off the front steps, so he grabs her by the arm and yanks her back. Harder than he expected, and she’s suddenly inside his house, and he kicks the door closed behind her.

“You want to say that again?” he asks, and he sounds threatening, but inside he kind of feels like he’s going to explode. Clarke screws her face up in a scowl.

“Octavia called me. And yelled. Because Miller asked out Monty because you were pathetic and then Miller told that you bought Brutus because of me loving dogs and then Monty called Octavia and told her how I felt about you and then Octavia called me and...,” Clarke says, looking at her feet. “You bought me a dog.” 

“I bought ME a dog,” Bellamy yells. “It might have been a contributing factor that you needed a dog to hug on the regular, but Brutus is MY dog. Why is this so hard for everyone to get?”

“Can you let me tell my goddamned story?” Clarke shouts. “I let you talk last night.”

“Barely,” Bellamy snaps. And then he stops. “Wait. Why are we yelling?” Clarke throws her hands in the air.

“Because we’re both emotionally retarded human disasters?” she suggests, and Bellamy laughs a little, and then winces.

“O shouldn’t have called you. I didn’t tell anyone I said anything,” he says. “And I still want… I just want you in my life. I want to share my life with you. As friends, if that’s all you want.” Clarke sighs heavily.

“It’s not all I want. But… I’m also... ,” Clarke trails off. Bellamy nods.

“Your love life is a disaster zone,” he finishes for her. “You don’t want to lose the friendship.” Clarke nods. And then she looks up at him, meeting his eyes.

“But… I think it might be worth the risk,” Clarke says. “Last night, I was going to… I mean, I thought you knew, because how could you not know how I felt about you. Especially after my mother. And then you said… I wasn’t expecting…” She trails off again and Bellamy swallows thickly. 

“I thought you knew how I felt about you and didn’t feel the same way,” he offers. “A couple of times. I just… it’s enough, you know?” Clarke nods. 

“It is. It’s… we’re good together. However we’re together. And messing with that… it’s... ,” Clarke pauses and takes a deep steadying breath. “I’m saying that if you’re in, I’m in.” Bellamy reaches out, his fingers grazing her upper arm and tracing down until he can link his fingers into hers, pulling her just one step closer. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment where he decides if it’s worth the risk, if he’s worth the risk, and if she is. This is the moment he chooses if he gets a shot at spending the rest of his life with her as friends or as something more. Clarke’s searching his eyes with hers and he wants to ask her if she can see it there, how much he loves her, how scared he is, and...

“I’m in,” he says softly, and Clarke steps forward into his chest, and sighs heavily. It’s like something uncoils in her, and she melts against him.

“I love you,” she says into his chest. And she means it and means it and means it. 

“I love you, too,” he whispers into her hair.

 

The moment is perfect. Until Brutus decides to join in the hug and brings all three of them toppling unexpectedly to the ground in a mess of laughter and dog slobber. Clarke kisses him, messily, intense, straddling him, and then loops her arms around Brutus and grins like she’s got everything she’s ever wanted right within reach. And, if he’s honest, dog-person or no, Bellamy does too. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [find me on tumblr](wordy-anansi.tumblr.com)
> 
> (please don't request more of this fic. I know the ending is not what you want. I do. But I don't have it in me. The last few episodes have been robbing me pretty hardcore of my love of the show... and I'm actually considering taking a real fic hiatus to work on some original stuff instead. But we'll see how that goes.)


End file.
